


like you mean it

by MissSunFlower94



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Canon: Zolf is Bad at Comforting People, Gen, Me: I Can't Read Suddenly I Don't Know, Mild Hurt/Comfort, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25960507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSunFlower94/pseuds/MissSunFlower94
Summary: Cel is always smiling.Zolf is surprised it took him this long to notice.
Relationships: Celiquillithon "Cel" Sidebottom & Zolf Smith
Comments: 15
Kudos: 65





	like you mean it

**Author's Note:**

> Zolf rolled *real high* on his sense motive, alright?

Oddly enough, Zolf notices because of Cel’s smile.

Cel smiles often. They have two common expressions, as far as Zolf can tell: cheerful – smiling a grin so wide his own jaw sometimes aches looking at it – or quizzical. And sometimes their quizzical expression still hold their smile, delighted by the prospect of something they might not understand. He’s seen them upset, seen them shaken and exhausted, but it’s never long before that smile returns.

In hindsight, he’s surprised it took him this long.

As it is, though, he doesn’t notice until they’ve burst into the kitchen with no warning and no explanation, eyes bright and roaming the galley. It’s only a few seconds before their shoulders slump ever so slightly and a small crease forms between their eyebrows.

This has happened _four times_ already this morning, a different kobold each time. And now, Cel. “Whatever you lot are looking for, I can say with quite a bit of certainty; it ain’t here,” he says dryly.

Cel sighs, loud and dramatic. “One of these days,” they say as if that’s meant to mean anything at all to him. Then they properly focus on him for the first time and they brighten. “Good morning, Mr. Smith! Whatcha making?”

Zolf is halfway through explaining the vegetable pie he’s working on when his attention catches on the way Cel’s hands are shoved in their pockets, the way they rock back and forth on their heels, the way their smile is so wide that it looks _brittle_ , ready to crack and fall away. He frowns.

Earlier that morning, when Cel had still be on-shift, Earhart and called them up to ask that they increase speed. Zolf had been on deck, had kept half an eye on the conversation, and while it hadn’t been hostile (the request was understandable, given where they were), he hadn’t realized that Cel had been doing a fairly decent job at avoiding one-on-one conversations Earhart until then. When they had left, making a bee-line for the engine room, even from his distance Zolf could see that they were shaking.

Looking at Cel now, in the middle of some game with the kobolds, beaming from ear-to-ear, it’s almost impossible for him to remember the scene had happened. _Almost_.

“Uh, Mr. Smith? … Zolf?” Cel asks, and he realizes he had stopped talking mid-thought – and that he was probably staring at them. He feels his face warm and quickly clears his throat.

“Sorry. Just, had… a thought,” he says, wincing a little as he says it.

But Cel laughs. “Oh, that happens to me all the time,” they say cheerfully. “Want to share it? Always good to share thoughts, I find.”

He’s not sure he does, at least not yet. Not until he’s sure how to phrase ‘ _I’ve just realized that you’re especially energetic when you’re trying to cover up an anxiety attack’_ in a way that won’t make things even more awkward between them.

“Actually yes,” he pivots. “Was thinking- might get lunch out faster if I had some help?” He raises the knife he had been using to peel potatoes. “If you’re not too busy.”

“Oh!” They say, startled, and for a moment Zolf thinks this was an even worse idea. Cooking helps him relax, yes, but he’s Zolf and they’re Cel and this would not be the first difference in how they handle stress. Before he can take the offer back, Cel glances at the swinging door whence they came, clearly considering, and when they look back maybe it’s just him but their smile – still big as ever – looks a bit… relieved. “Why not! What do you need?”

Zolf passes the knife and the potato he was halfway through to Cel, while he gets started on slicing the rest of the vegetables. He glances over to check on them once and finds them making quick work with their knife. He wonders when they learned to cook, if someone had taught them or if they’d been forced to learn out of necessity – or if their love of reactions had simply carried over into the kitchen. With Cel, it’s impossible to know.

They work together for several minutes in a companionable silence that Zolf is almost reluctant to break. “So, um…”

Cel’s attention is fully on their potatoes now, and it takes a moment for them to realize he spoke. “Yeah?”

Maybe he should have planned something to say first. Maybe he can just leave it – it’s not his place to tell anyone else how to deal with their problems, as long as they’re not actively harming anyone else. And Cel’s cheerful deflection seems to be working for them well enough but… he knows what happens when you act like everything’s fine for too long. He can’t leave it.

Now, if he can just get the words out right. “Wondering if you were- with everything with the ship and the- and Earhart… wondering if you were doing… alright. Now.”

Terrible. Just awful.

“Are you asking if I’m feeling less _mutinous_?” Cel asks, their playful tone belied by the way they’ve gone suddenly still.

Zolf sighs. “More… if you’re any less anxious.”

“Oh, what?” They laugh. “Nah, you know me, Mr. Smith! Cool as a- something. Is it cabbage? I don’t think it’s cabbage…” They trail off with a blinding smile and _gods_ , how had Zolf not picked up on this before? It feels so obvious now.

“Cel,” he says, fixing them with a serious look. Their smile falters but doesn’t disappear entirely, and they give him a shrug that says they know they’ve been caught but aren’t going to admit it aloud. He sighs again.

“Listen,” he continues, looking back at the counter, though he doesn’t go back to chopping. “You don’t have to _tell_ me what’s wrong. I know I’m not exactly- well, you know how I am,” he says, his voice dropping near to a mumble. He can still hear their succinct assessment of some of his worst qualities; nothing he hadn’t known, of course, but nonetheless a bit jarring to hear so matter-of-factly stated – and to realize just how much he valued their opinion of him.

He shakes himself, glancing at Cel out of the corner of his eye. The smile is truly gone now, in its wake their expression is unreadable. “What I’m saying is… you don’t have to _be okay_ if you’re not, alright?”

This time when Cel laughs it’s a strained sound. “Wouldn’t that- uh, make me look _more_ suspicious?”

“Earhart’s suspicions are my problem to mediate, not yours,” he says. “And none of that matters when you finally snap.”

They bristle a little. “I’m capable of playing nice, Mr. Sm-“

“I know,” he says. His voice gentles. “I know. That’s not what I meant. I’ve just – and I’ve talked to Azu about this before, too – I just, know how it feels to feel like you _have_ to keep it together and it… never ends well. So… don’t feel like that. I guess.”

There is a long silence, and Zolf more than half-expects them to leave without another word. But a moment later they return to peeling the potato in their hands. He watches for a minute, long enough to see their hands were steady, and then lets himself finally begin chopping again.

“Can I tell you about it?” Cel’s voice is the quietest he has ever heard it and he nearly misses the words.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

They’re silent for a few more seconds. “I think it’s worse when I agree with her,” they say.

“Right,” he says carefully. When they don’t continue he adds, “How so?”

“I- you know, I- I said- about that… that rage, right? And how you can use it to- to justify putting people in danger, and becoming something… something you didn’t want to be, right?” Cel takes a shaky breath, closing their eyes. “And I said that I- I recognized that.”

“You said,” Zolf agrees softly.

They put both knife and potato down and run a hand through their hair. “Well, it’s- it took a while- you know, it took a long, long time to- not even to get better but to realize that I was… was _wrong_ , you know? And then it took a long time to get better, too – to- to put that behind me as something I wouldn’t- would _never_ be again.

“And now- it’s- I know it was just a question about speed but I don’t like when she sounds reasonable – I start thinking maybe it’s not that _she_ sounds reasonable but that _I’m_ starting to…” They clench their fists; Zolf notices they’re shaking again. “You know, it’s not always great minds thinking alike or things like that. Sometimes it’s people just… making each other worse.”

Zolf blinks. “You’re not,” he says. Cel makes an impatient noise but he cuts in before they can argue. “Cel, no. Look,” he says, careful but firm. “You have proven on more than one occasion that you will call her out if what she’s requesting puts the ship or crew at risk – but you are part of that crew; that inevitably means following some of her orders when they’re necessary. That’s not… abetting anything. That’s keeping us safe.”

Their hand passes through their hair again. Bits of it stay vertical. “I know, but-” They sigh gustily, unable to find words for their objection. He understands, knows that he is certainly telling them things they have already thought – reassurances that have already failed.

“I know you- you recognize… things about her,” he adds gently. “But that doesn’t make you responsible for her actions, either. You built a good ship, Cel, and if Earhart misuses it, what happens next isn’t the _ship_ ’s fault. If she ignores your advice or your warnings or your refusals, then we have a problem – but that problem is not _your_ fault.”

They don’t say anything to that, but he sees them nod. They pick up the knife again, then put it back down quickly to wipe at the corners of their eyes. Zolf carefully doesn’t wince. The whole _point_ was letting Cel know it was okay not be cheerful around him, but it doesn’t make this any easier to see.

He looks away and lets them collect themself. “For the record,” he says to the cutting board. “For whatever it’s worth… I trust you more than- more than anyone else here, honestly.” He hears Cel inhale, and pushes on quickly, stumbling over his words. “And I said- I obviously had to tell Earhart I’d ‘ _keep an eye on you_ ’, yeah? But, like- if you… want me to keep an eye on you… for you… I can.”

When he glances their way again, they’ve picked up their mostly peeled potato again – passing it between their hands, looking at it as if it has all of the answers. “You think… would it look like this? Keeping an eye on me, I mean.”

It takes Zolf a moment to parse what they mean. This. Sharing the kitchen. Giving them something to distract them, something else to focus on – and an ear to listen should they need it – the moment he had noticed they were off. “If you want, yeah” he says. “I know I’m not always the- the best for this so if you ever want to talk to Azu instead, I’d understand. Just… an offer, I guess.”

Cel looks up, around the galley, and Zolf watches their breathing beginning to settle. They pick up the knife again, and their hands are steady. “Yeah, that… that sounds nice, I think. Not all the time, obviously - got a job to do and all that but… yeah.”

And when they look at him again their smile is small, and sad – but it’s _real_.


End file.
